Delusional
by The Light-Hearted Fool
Summary: Sheik does not like being followed. So, Sheik did not appreciate the strange churl that had followed him around almost every time he went to Hyrule Castle Town.


**Author:** The Jester  
**Rating:**PG-13?  
**Warnings:** Crack!fic, some negative language, AU-ish.

**Disclaimer**: The rights to Legend of Zelda belong to Nintendo, of which the author and editor of this piece of fan fiction are not a part. This piece has not been written for profit, neither is it in circulation for profit.

***

Sheik did not like being followed. Sheik did not know of anyone who liked being followed, either. It was always a bad portent; at least, it led to annoyance, at worst it led to death. So, Sheik did not appreciate the strange churl that had followed him around almost _every_ time he went to Hyrule Castle Town. If the fellow didn't seem so harmless, Sheik would've likely gotten rid of him. However, as it stood, Sheik did not think he could get away with attacking the man.

So, he avoided going to the Castle Town whenever possible. He would've avoided it altogether, if he hadn't matters to attend. Sheik wasn't about to brush off his tasks or duties just because some irksome chuff wouldn't let him be.

That was how Sheik found himself waiting, sitting in what he'd initially assumed to be a secluded alcove. From it, however, he could easily spy the man who had been following him. The man must've thought himself discreet, for he stood a little ways off, with his back mostly to Sheik. He wasn't fooling anyone, though, not the way he continually peered over his shoulder.

At first, Sheik acted as if he did not notice, but the man's focus on him was wearing on his thin nerves. In irritation, Sheik turned to stare at the man (well, glare, really), with all the intensity he could muster. The man, chuffish as he was, did not pick up on Sheik's intent. He, instead, turned towards Sheik and began approaching.

Despite a desire to throw a bag of caltrops at the man and vanish, Sheik stood unmoving. It could've easily been a mind game, and the man could've been instigating such action, fully prepared for it. Instead, Sheik slowly reached for a Deku nut, just in case. Never trust unassuming men, for they are most likely to be dangerous.

The man smiled as he stood before the wary Sheikah, "Hello, there."

Sheik did not favor the greeting with a vocal one. His response was only a perfunctory nod. Of course, a nod was much more polite than demanding to know why the man dared speak to him.

"I've been wanting to speak to you for a while, now," the churl told him, still sounding amiable.

Sheik kept his silence, while his thoughts wove unvoiced and scathing notions. The man was completely unflappable, however. Either that or he had no working knowledge of the unspoken language. There were no other explanations for how the man was still standing there, smiling.

"My name is Stijn," he introduced, and I'm a big admirer. I thought you should know who I am."

Information was more important than intimidation, so Sheik loosed his tongue enough to ask, "Why?"

Without missing a beat, and without noticeably seeing anything wrong with his words, he replied, "Because I know who you are."

Sheik's insides twisted unpleasantly, like a snake coiling into itself. Keeping his tone even and (mostly) free of cold ire, Sheik asked, "And why might _that_ be?"

The smile turned from an attempt at charming to a very reverent one, "Because you're so captivating."

It took all of Sheik's willpower and training to not step away from that unnerving smile. The strange reverence did not seem to have any healthy emotional basis – which also explained the issue of _stalking_.

The smile still drowned in the delusional admiration took on an almost sly tinge as Stijn informed Sheik, "I know your secret, too. And I like it."

A bizarre sense of dread practically exploded in Sheik's gut and derailed his analytical thought process. Whatever secret he meant, it was _nothing_ good. Sheik's secrets were never secret out of the frivolous and childish joy of having them as secrets. They were secret because they _needed_ to be. Not a _one_ was permissible to let loose.

Either by the miracle of Stijn actually grasping non-verbal language, or simply by virtue of him having rehearsed it, Stijn assured him, "I won't tell anyone."

Gently probing for knowledge of _which_ secret of his that Stijn knew, Sheik asked the most practical question: "How do you know?"

Granted, that was _not_ a practical question as far as deniability went. However, Stijn did not seem the type to be so cunning, despite Sheik's mistrust in the strangely hapless.

"It's obvious," the churl said with a shrug, giving Sheik no real information, "I mean, you don't really sound masculine…"

Sheik's mind didn't make connections immediately, through a rankling insult on his masculinity, but it did eventually make them. _That_ was a highly problematic social secret. Slowly, another creeping conclusion crept into Sheik's mind; stalking connected with "and I like it," to create a new mass of unpleasant feelings. The man was a threat. A very _big_ threat.

That time, Sheik kept his silence to try to regain his sense of control; he had strength of will. He only needed a moment to organize his thoughts. The situation was still very salvageable, he just needed to keep a level head and deal with the man's insanity.

Stijn started to speak again, only mildly hesitant at first, "And your build isn't very masculine, either."

Sheik reflexively squared his shoulders. He knew his voice was more lilting and less gruff than the average ploughman, but men came in all manner of shapes and sizes. His chest was broader and his body leaner than many he'd seen. His build was nothing less than masculine! With a sneer hidden by his facemask, he quelled his petty thoughts. He knew better than that, and he wasn't going to let the chuff get to him.

"You're strong, too, and that's impressive. There aren't enough strong women in the world."

Sheik's thoughts shattered and scattered at once, like a line of soldiers in a broken shield-wall, trying to regroup. He was mostly baffled, though, that someone would believe a female would masquerade as a male Sheikah. It was a highly intense culture and life with little information available to the outside. What possible reason could the loon have for believing Sheik to be some mock-male?

In his reply, insult won over logical concerns, "I'm most certainly _not_ female."

Then, Stijn laughed, as if Sheik were making a droll little joke. "You don't need to tell me that. I already said I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Good," Sheik ground out. "I take offense to being lied about."

The man seemed confused by those words, "Lied about?"

"I told you, I am not female."

"Oh, but that male thing just a disguise."

"I know my own gender, thank you."

"I know your gender t—"

"No, I don't think you do."

Sheik felt better as he watched the man shift uncomfortably, before trying, again, to argue his insanity. "You… you don't need to push that story on me, you know. I know you're a powerful, beautiful woman," at that point, he had the audacity to invade Sheik's personal space and place a hand on his shoulder, "and I think—"

Sheik shrugged him off, "No, you don't."

"I don't know why you're acting like this," Stijn told him, sounding frustrated.

"You're claiming I don't know my own gender."

"Listen!" the man practically shouted, "I know you're actu—"

"No," Sheik snarled back, having had enough, "_you_ listen, you delusional faggot—"

The churl didn't let Sheik finish, and interrupted him with a harsh shove into the stone behind him. Stijn was shouting something, irate about the insult. Beyond that, Sheik couldn't get any bearings. Somehow, he hadn't expected the fellow to actually attack him. Not that he'd really been thinking when he started talking (he should've known better than that).

When he finally regained his bearings, uncomfortably wedged in the corner, on the filthy ground, he spotted a hand clad in a leather gauntlet held in front of his face. Looking up, he saw Link, the perpetual hero. Part of him felt a curl of resentment, but more of him was just happy that he wasn't cornered, anymore. He allowed Link to help him up, as he could hardly get much leverage any other way.

They stood in awkward silence a moment, as Sheik glared down at the man, lying prone on the ground. Sheik nudged the unconscious figure over with his foot, to survey the damage done to him. He looked fairly banged up; his lip was busted, and Sheik could see bruises forming. It served him right, really.

He jumped, startled, as he felt Link brush the dust and dirt from him. Sheik focused his attention on Link, but still felt too off-kilter to think of anything to say. Useless noise was unbecoming from him, anyway.

"You don't get that mad when you talk to me," Link said, trying to break the unpleasant silence that clung around them like stubborn cobwebs.

"You're not an idiot," Sheik replied.

Link only nodded and, after a moment, ventured to wrap an arm around Sheik's waist. Again, Sheik jumped at the contact.

Unable to stop himself, Sheik told him, "I'm not a woman."

Link didn't miss a beat, "I wouldn't like you if you were."


End file.
